The Color of Happiness
by russelia
Summary: Just when Danny Jones is about to give up on love, he finds it in the place he least expects. Fletcher/Jones.


Bright lights. Flashing cameras. Screaming fans.

Their symphony thunders all around the stadium when Danny Jones takes the microphone stand and presses the microphone against his lips. They're screaming for him, young women shrieking their lungs out with their arms stretched as far as their bodies allow vying for his complete and undivided attention. Danny knows this, which is why he doesn't look at them. He only looks ahead, scoping out the audience situated farther back, in the balconies, near the doors at the back, and sometimes he closes his eyes and lets the beat of the music take him somewhere else.

Being one of the most popular pop stars didn't change him in the least bit. He's still the same young man who loves performing just for the sake of performing—be it in front of three close friends or three thousand strangers. But he has to admit, all the fame and money can be blinding at times, like shackles involuntarily bound to his wrists the moment he signed his agency's contract. He can't leave his house to get a cup of coffee without fifty paparazzi shoving their large cameras in his face, getting the shots they want. Sometimes, he'd just grab a friend whenever he's going out to shield him from all the chaos, and usually it's Harry because he knows just how to make them leave him alone. Most of the time, it only takes one or two punches, but when they would persist, Harry wouldn't mind giving one more. Other than that, he usually stays at home, back in the comfort of Ginger, his cat, and his guitar. Sometimes, he'd grow lonely, and he knows his money has something to do with his solitude.

Most of the time, he doesn't know if people date him for his personality or his money. It's really hard to tell, and it gets frustrating not knowing if he's being used or not. His past relationships have only ended in heartbreak; he found out that all of them only wanted him for his money and all the fame that followed him, taking great joy whenever people would take their pictures because it made them that much closer to being famous as well. Danny always got hurt in the end. This series of break-ups closed his heart to the world, and next week will mark his two months of isolation.

It's quite depressing not to have someone to share his life with, but he knows it's necessary if he is to be truly happy. He has Ginger, and he has his music, so what else can he really need?

His concert ends in a high note, and when the crowd roars, it's nearly deafening. He smiles, crystalline blue eyes looking all around and drinking in all the exhilaration emblazoned on everyone's faces. Paired with the bad side of his career is the good side. Bringing happiness to his fans. It's one of the main reasons he took up his agent's offer; he wants to entertain, and when it comes down to it, seeing the smiles on their faces and knowing he's the reason for them is payment enough.

He bows and brings the microphone to his lips one more time, feeling tendrils of sweat running down his face. He ignores them, and with a booming, rebounding voice, he says, "Thank you all for coming!"

The response is a half-step above deafening, and he thanks the plugs in his ears with a broad grin. His next words coalesce with the roaring of the entire stadium, expressing his gratitude to the band behind him and for everyone else who supported him the whole way. Pushing his microphone back on the stand, he bows and runs to his left and off the stage.

He can still hear them screaming even after he closes the door to his dressing room.

He looks at himself in the mirror as he wipes his face with a towel. He still looks the same as he did when he performed in his first concert, except for the traces of stubble after forgetting to shave in the morning and the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired, he _feels_tired, and he sits down to catch his breath. He knows can't keep it up for long without substantial rest, and so he's relieved that it's his last show for the year.

He swings his chair to look at the far end of the table and looks at the baskets of food his friends and family sent over while he was performing. He rubs his stomach a few times before turning back to his reflection and sighing greatly to himself. He's not really hungry at the moment, too tired to even think about food. He'll just eat them when he gets home, and maybe feed some to Ginger while he's at it.

He picks himself up, grabs his guitar sitting on the seat beside him, and strides out of the room.

The crew congratulates him as he walks along the hall, some offering their hands to shake, some patting him on the back, and he takes it all with a grin. That's Danny Jones; always with a smile on his face, rain or shine.

He leaves the building with a few people to usher him safely to the tour bus. Outside, a large crowd has gathered, most of them raising up signs high in the air, the ones in the immediate front holding out pictures of him to sign. He manages to sign some of them before he's whisked along, the men creating a path for him to follow because they know he's tired as well.

He sees the bus parked a few ways off from where he was and he takes longer strides, eager to jump in its comfort but never neglecting the fans. He waves at them as he goes, signs a few more pictures, compliments some signs, and shakes the hands of those close enough for him to grab. Before long, the noise becomes more and more distant, and when he stops hearing it completely, he turns to the men, thanks them, waves, and walks inside the vehicle without another word.

::

He plops down on his bed and groans. It's been too long since he's felt his sheets, bounced on the mattress, smelled the freshly-washed pillows. Months without his bed cost him his back, and he's happy he doesn't have to hire another chiropractor for the rest of the year. But what's really important is that he's back home, and after too many shows to count, he can finally _rest_.

He turns his head and spots a basket sitting on the top. A card is stuck in between two blueberry muffins, and he stretches out his arm to grab it. Scanning the untidy scrawl, he smiles, and it's then that he finally feels home.

_Hope you had a smashing time!  
>- Harry<em>

::

He wakes up after feeling something brushing against his leg, and he doesn't have to look to see what it is.

"Settle down, Ginger," he orders in the pillow, moving his legs to make the feline stop. But she continues playing against them, and when he feels her claws sink in his skin, his eyes shoot open in pain. He spins onto his back, sits upright, and glares at the cat pawing at something invisible in the air as though nothing had happened. "What'd you do that for?"

She stops, turns to her owner, bright green eyes gleaming in the sun, sits on her hind legs, and looks at him intently. They stare at each other for a while, a contest unconsciously initiated, but Danny knows he's bound to lose in the end. Ginger never blinks.

Ginger is the first to break her gaze and she slinks elegantly across the bed, her form fluid like a ribbon waving in the air. She looks up one last time at Danny before rubbing her face on his side and jumping on his lap. She purrs deeply and Danny smiles.

He missed her too.

::

A week into his freedom, he feels bored, and the usual jovialness he feels watching Ginger play with a ball of yarn across the floor is nowhere to be found. He sighs and looks at the phone.

Harry hasn't called since he arrived, but Danny can't find it in himself to call to see if everything was alright. Harry did mention he's found someone when Danny was off playing at Glasgow, so he's probably spending as much time with her as possible. Danny can't blame him, but at the same time, he can't help but feel even more lonely. Harry always has someone, and as he's not famous or rich, it's always for his personality. Danny envies that, and he hugs his knees on his bed, his back on the headboard.

All he wants is someone beside him so he wouldn't have days like these.

::

As an excuse to go out more often, Danny signed himself up to volunteer at a nearby psychological center.

He's hardly left the house ever since he returned, and though the paparazzi has dissipated over time from outside his door, he can't find anything to do out. He doesn't want to shut down another store just so he and his friends could have some time to hang out with each other, so he decides on another outlet. And volunteer work seemed the perfect alternative.

After slipping on his scrubs, he kisses Ginger on the nose, tells her to behave, puts on a hat and a pair of sunglasses, and locks the door behind him. He keeps his head lowered as he makes his way to his garage, and not wasting any time, he clambers inside his car and heads for the center.

::

The moment he arrives, he's sent to work at once.

All he has to do is familiarize himself with the patients, ask them how they're doing, and maybe entertain a couple. He doesn't mind; maybe this'll get his mind distracted enough to enjoy life again. He loves making people smile, and this is just another way of doing that without his music as a crutch.

He happily receives the clipboard with all the names and room numbers, and he sets off to work at once.

He does the elderly first, and though he has trouble getting their attention and getting them to speak even a word to him, he finally gets the hang of it. Before long, he's smiling again.

"That's a nice drawing, Mr. Jackson," he compliments as he looks at the scribbles on the paper. He thinks it's supposed to be a tree, or a bear, or a house, but he doesn't want to say something rude on accident, so he grins instead. Mr. Jackson turns to him and gives him a toothless smile in return. It's then that he sees someone walk past the table, someone with long, blond hair and pale skin wearing the same attire as everyone else, a long pale blue tunic and trousers made of the same material.

Danny is momentarily distracted, his eyes glued to the back of the stranger's golden head as he strolls along, his arms swinging at his side. Something about him made Danny's heart jump, and he's compelled to find out what. He goes back to Mr. Jackson, who is busily drawing something on a new piece of paper, and excuses himself.

He picks the clipboard from the table, straightens his uniform, and steadily walks after him. No sooner had he turned the corner than Danny sees the other man slip into a room, and he doesn't hesitate to follow.

::

The door creaks when Danny pushes it open, and peering into the room, he finds the other man sitting on the bed, legs dangling on the edge, and honey-colored eyes focused directly at him.

"You were following me," he tells Danny bluntly, and Danny slips inside the room before scratching his head and playing off his embarrassment with a smile.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes after he hears the door close, and he stays rooted to the spot. The other man's looking at him warily, hands gripping the sides of his bed tightly, like a tiger ready to pounce on his prey, and Danny feels uncomfortable. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all. He barely knows anything about how the patients in the center work, and he should have known better than to follow one inside his room without permission. "If you want me to leave, I'll just—"

"You're new," he cuts in as he stands up, and he walks closer to Danny, whose heart has begun beating fast. He's never too good in these situations, being cornered like this, and he almost wishes that Harry's right beside him to help him through it like he always does.

Danny nods. "Yeah, I'm volunteering." He stretches out his hand to shake. He might as well be friendly now that he has his attention. "My name's Danny. What's yours?"

He doesn't answer at once, only looking at Danny's hand with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, and it makes Danny feel even more uncomfortable. First day on the job and he's already got on the wrong foot. He finds his smile faltering, and he feels the beginnings of sweat running along his forehead.

Just when he's about to give up and drop his hand, the blond takes it gently with his own and begins shaking it up and down. The touch sends tingles down Danny's spine, stunning him for a moment, and he returns the action after a second of recovery. His hands are soft, almost infant-like, as though he's never worked a day of his life, and Danny almost doesn't want to let it go.

"Tom," he answers, still shaking Danny's hand, and Danny finds the courage to smile again. Tom releases his hand with a smile, and Danny sees a dimple poking itself in one cheek, but not on the other. Danny likes the idiosyncrasy, and he lingers just a moment longer before excusing himself out of the room.

If everyone's this nice in the center, then he probably made the right decision after all.

::

In the days that follow, Danny spends his time with Tom more than the other patients, mostly because he's the only one that bothers to make proper conversation. Still, Danny doesn't mind; he likes spending time with Tom, and he learns something new about him every day.

Danny learns that Tom was admitted due to the trauma of seeing his parents die in a fire. For the longest time, he kept to himself and everyone else out, creating his reputation for being the most introverted patient in the facility. At first, he couldn't even tell the nurses his name, let alone what was wrong with him. Over time, however, he managed to open up a little bit, garnering a few close friends throughout his time in the center, but never letting anyone inside completely. Danny can understand in some way, and he doesn't try to push Tom to his limits. He doesn't want to turn him away, so instead, he just sits next to him and talk about anything he finds interesting to talk about.

Tom's quite loquacious, Danny realizes, and when he gets a conversation going, that's when he starts opening up. There are times, however, when he just completely zones out and ignores Danny, but Danny learns to deal with it and wait patiently for him to snap back to reality and continue the discussion as though nothing had happened. Other times, Tom talks to himself, even in Danny's company, but Danny doesn't find it peculiar. It's this complexity that draws him to Tom. He hasn't the slightest of ideas about what goes on in Tom's head, and it's riveting to watch him unfold. Like a flower blooming in the spring.

That's when he realizes that he's beginning to like Tom as more than a friend.

::

"I like your music," Tom says amidst the activity in the mess hall, shifting in his seat, and he resumes peeling the orange in his hand.

Tom likes to peel oranges for the sake of peeling, and though Danny found this slightly odd at first, he doesn't make it seem so. Everyone's entitled to their indulgences, and this seems to be Tom's, so who is he to question it? And since he likes oranges, he usually just takes the finished ones Tom sets on a separate plate and, after waiting for Tom's consent, eats each piece one by one, just to make him feel like it's perfectly normal to peel an orange without eating all the hard work.

Danny swallows the piece of orange in his mouth and raises an eyebrow. Tom's never told him he listens to his music, or made any mention that he recognized him the first time they met, and in his mind he wonders why. "Really?"

Tom smiles to himself, a wide personal smile, and drops the orange back on the plate, eyes slowly moving off to something under the table that Danny can't see. "Yeah. I always get excited when you come on the radio."

Danny feels himself blushing. He's heard compliments like this before, and he's pretty used to it after all this time, but when Tom said it, he couldn't help but feel elated inside. He grins and dips his head to Tom, not caring that he can't see what he's doing. "Thank you."

Then Tom zones out again, eyes watching nothing in particular, and Danny waits with a smile. When these times came, Danny practiced looking at Tom in the meantime and taking his image in as though he'd never seen him before.

He likes Tom's hair, the way the fringe sways to one side and the way it bounces when he walks. He reckons it's soft to the touch, but the doesn't dare make a move to confirm. Tom's bound to think something bad of him. Then he moves to his lips, the way they curve slightly to form a perpetually unconscious smile. He wants to touch them, too…

"Is there something on my face?" Tom says confusedly, eyes back on Danny, and the spell on him breaks, turning his attention back to Tom completely.

Danny smiles and shakes his head, face, already flushed, getting redder by the second. "No, you're perfect."

Just then, an idea strikes him, and he couldn't stop the large grin spreading on his face. He sits up, leans on his elbows on the table, and Tom watches with curiosity.

"I can play you a song tomorrow if you want."

It's been a long time since he's performed in front of someone, and who better to perform to than someone who likes what he does.

Tom considers silently and picks at his fingernail, eyes flashing at separate intervals at Danny and back under the table again. Danny keeps a hopeful smile. Surely, Tom won't refuse, but in the case that he does, he'll accept it anyway. He's not the kind of person to make Tom to do anything he doesn't want to do.

"I'd like that," Tom smiles finally, and Danny feels his heart swelling. Tom's smile is contagious, how it makes the day even brighter and how it makes it seem like nothing can ever go wrong, and it never fails to make Danny smile just a little bigger.

"Alright then. I'll bring my guitar tomorrow."

::

Danny rifles through mountains of folders and tears out sheets of music from inside, bloodshot eyes fervently trying to find the perfect song to play. He's been doing the same thing all night, and he knows it's already late because Ginger's purring away against his leg, her paws on her stomach, sound asleep. He's tired, and he's already yawned about fifty times since starting, but he doesn't stop. He only holds the cup of coffee in his hand to his lips and scans the folders for something—anything—that Tom might like.

Fifteen minutes. Thirty. Forty-five. Two hours.

Papers are strewn all over the floor, making it difficult to make out the floor beneath them, and he adds two more to the fray with a disgruntled sigh. He must have searched through his entire collection twice already and still nothing catches his eyes. He's about ready to give up and surrender to the sleep his eyes desperately need, but then he remembers the time they first met.

How Tom caught his hand just when he was about to drop it.

He closes his eyes for a moment and thinks of how nice his hand felt and how sweet his smile was. If he gives up now, he won't get the chance to make him smile again. He grips the cup tighter, opens his eyes, and begins to look once more.

He'll do anything to make him smile.

::

Three hours' worth of sleep is a small price to pay for finding the perfect song.

::

The sun shines through the curtains, flashing over his eyelids, willing them to open. Danny hesitates and challenges the light, pulling the covers over him and knocking Ginger to the floor. Her loud screech snaps his eyes open, and he sits up as quickly as he can to apologize.

"Sorry 'bout that," he says tiredly, trying to subdue a yawn burrowing its way out of his throat, rubbing his eyes with the sides of his fists, and the angry feline angrily turns her head away from him before slinking underneath the table and disappearing into the darkness. Danny laughs as he gets to his feet. He'll treat her later to her favorite brand of cat food, but right now he needs to get ready.

Tom's waiting for him.

::

With the guitar in his hand, he signs in the front desk, compliments Jan, the reception lady, on her new hairstyle, receives the clipboard with a gin, and makes his way to Tom's room without a word.

He twists the doorknob open and lets himself in. Before this, Danny usually has to go through an elaborate ritual before Tom finally lets him inside, product of his bursting in unannounced his first day, and while Danny didn't mind doing the silly things he's asked to do, he's quite glad he doesn't have to tire himself out anymore just to see Tom.

Tom's sitting on his bed, his back to the headboard, hugging his knees close to his face, and he looks up the moment the door snaps close. He draws his brows together and watches Danny with scrutinizing eyes. Danny wonders what's wrong.

Tom finally unfurls his legs. They take nearly the entire length of the bed. "You're tired."

Danny smiles. Something about Tom's observant habits always makes him smile.

"Do you want to lie down?"

The question catches Danny off-guard, and he feels his heart skip a beat, but he composes his face before he can show it. It's been doing that a lot lately, and he wonders how long he can keep it up until it decides to take advantage of him. He's scared of what Tom will think once his feelings are laid out in the open.

Tom keeps his eyes to him, maintaining the intensity they had the moment he entered, and Danny watches back, trying to make his eyes as lively as possible despite the sleep trying to take over them.

"Nah, I'll just sit down, if that's fine with you," Danny proposes with a boyish grin, and it's Tom's turn to smile. He nods and watches interestedly as Danny sits on the bed just a few inches shy from where he's situated and props the guitar on his lap. His eyes travel to the instrument almost immediately, and Danny follows his gaze.

With a chuckle, he stands the guitar on his thigh and tosses his head, offering Tom to have a go at it. Tom only eyes it with confusion. "Want to try playing it?"

Tom sweeps his eyes to Danny, then to the guitar, then back to Danny, and he concludes the action with a light shake of his head. "No, thank you." His dimple pokes deeper in his cheek when Danny retracts the instrument, and his smile grows to a grin as Danny situates the guitar in his playing position, resting his fingers on their predestined locations. Taking a moment to ready himself, Danny exhales and watches Tom, who's intently staring back, with glittering eyes.

And then he plays.

His fingers strum the guitar to create a soft melody, the ones at the elongated portion masterfully weaving their way across the surface and pressing down on each string when the time calls for it. The melody reminds him of waves crashing softly on the shoreline and palm trees swinging carelessly with the wind, and it takes him back to the day when he first wrote the song. Just him and the sea and the trees.

Tom listens attentively, bringing his knees back ever so closer to his chest as his arms coil around his legs, and pretty soon, he's waving his head to the music, lightly at first but growing steadily as the rhythm continues, taking in every single lyric spilling out from Danny's lips like a beam of light in complete darkness. Danny sings on, focusing on the guitar so he doesn't miss a note but still watching Tom from the corners of his eyes. His song fills the room like the swirling perfumes of flowers on a field, and Danny smiles when he sees Tom mouthing the words along with him, a large grin spread across both of their faces, two friends enjoying nothing else but each other's company.

The song seems to drag on forever, and he doesn't want to stop anytime soon considering that Tom's enjoying himself too much, but he knows he has to, and it makes him think about writing a song that _can_go on forever.

Just for Tom.

He strums last few notes and he finishes his song, and Tom's smile lingers on long after the last word was sung.

Danny sets the guitar carefully on an empty part of the bed behind him and Tom, tucking his legs under him and placing his palms on his knees, looks at him with wonder.

"Took me all last night looking for that song," Danny admits, running his hand through his messy hair after forgetting to comb it in the morning, and Tom knits his brows together in concern. He drops his hands on the mattress and pushes himself up before taking slow, cat-like steps toward Danny, whose heart is starting to beat quicker than ever. It's when Tom is only a few inches away from his face, their noses so close he can feel Tom's breath brushing his lips, wearing a scrutinizing gaze that he fails to comprehend, that he realizes they've never been this close to each other before.

"Is that why your eyes are so dark?" Tom breaks the tense silence, and Danny feels the tingling vibration of his voice on his face. Tom looks on, waiting for a significant answer with his honey-colored eyes, all traces of his smile vanished, and for a fraction of a second, Danny almost leans in. He catches himself just in time, however, and plays it off by closing his eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that run rampant in his mind, thoughts that he knows he shouldn't be thinking but he can't help but think no matter how hard he tries not to.

"No, it's not that," Danny finally says after clearing his mind to the best of his abilities, and he flashes his eyes open with a smile to try to make Tom's worry disappear. Tom's face relaxes a little, but the concern lingers, and he brings up a pale hand to Danny's face. Danny shivers slightly when Tom's skin makes contact with his, and Tom notices this, showing his acknowledgement with a smile, but he makes no move to pull back. With his thumb, he traces an invisible half-circle underneath Danny's eyes, and Danny suddenly feels lightheaded at the touch. Tom's skin feels light and soft, almost as if it's made of clouds, and Danny enjoys the warmth that seeps through its pores in contrast to the cold air filling the room. And then another feeling overtakes him, something he's sure he's never felt before but has dreamed of every waking moment of his life.

He feels loved.

Tom's going out of his way to worry about Danny, caress him, make him feel better even though he never asked him to, and he's sure that _that_'s what it feels like to have someone love him. Not for his money, not for his fame, but for _him_, for _Danny_, and it's all he wants more than anything he's ever wanted before.

The touch feels like an eternity, and Tom continues to rub Danny's skin after seeing how much he seems to like it, his eyelids slowly dropping over his sapphire eyes, almost as blue as the sea, passion coating every single red line swimming around his pupils. Danny brings his hand to touch the back of Tom's, pushing it ever so lightly against his skin, desperate to feel more of his warmth, deciding that if he can't show his feelings, this suffices just the same.

"Danny?"

The word almost sounds like a whisper, breathy and wispy, and Danny opens his eyes just a bit. He doesn't take his hand off, only gripping Tom's tighter, and asks in the same manner, "Yeah?"

Tom smiles and reaches his other hand to cup Danny's face. Danny's face is getting warmer, and he knows it's not because of the warmth of Tom's hand converging with his skin but of how Tom is looking at him. He doesn't have time to decipher the meaning behind his eyes because at that moment, Tom is leaning in, and he presses his lips lightly against his, just as his hands have been doing on his face.

Danny's heart hammers in his ribcage, and he feels his knees growing weaker despite the fact that he's sitting down and they have no real need in holding him up. He feels Tom's heart beating through his hands, equally intense and ground-shaking, and his eyes flutter for a bit before closing completely, and he savors the feeling of their lips locked together in the most innocent of kisses.

The kiss goes on forever without any sign of aggression or uncertainty, just a simple touching of the lips that is undoubtedly the greatest kiss he's ever shared in his life.

Tom pulls back without warning and Danny's eyes shoot open, lips still slightly puckered, not yet ready for the blissful feeling to end. Tom smiles and rubs his thumb over Danny's lips, not to brush off any residue but to feel the softness, and Danny kisses it with a smile of his own.

"You, er… You want to hear the song again?" Danny asks, quite glad to say anything in the storm of thoughts and emotion running amuck in his mind, and Tom doesn't take a moment's silence to consider.

He nods his head and sits back properly, unfurling his legs from under him and sitting cross-legged as he happily watches Danny retrieve his guitar. The pressure to play perfectly that so drenched him before vanishes without a trace, and for the first time in life, he feels glad to share a song with someone he knows feels the same way as him, just the both of them and the company of his guitar.

::

Danny jumps on his bed and snatches Ginger, who had been resting peacefully on one of the pillows, in his hands with a grin. The cat is surprised, and out of instinct tries to crawl away by hooking her claws into the mattress, but Danny keeps her in his embrace, and he kisses the top of her head with enthusiasm. The feline turns to him and seems, to him, to raise an eyebrow, as if asking him why he's acting that way.

Danny smiles and kisses her again before saying, "I've finally found my someone. You have no idea how happy I am."

With the look of utter disinterest in her face, he knows it's true, but that doesn't stop him from wearing his feelings on his sleeves and showing it, if not to the world then to the only other one his heart belongs to.

Ginger yawns and falls limp in Danny's arms, and Danny returns the action half a second later. Kissing the top of her head one last time, he pulls the covers over him, hugs her tight, and sleeps a good night's sleep that's long overdue.

::

The event awakes something in Tom that Danny's never seen before. What used to be aloof collectedness and overt introversion transformed into warm openness and decades-worth of smiles, and Danny's glad he's the cause of this brand new outlook on life.

In the days that follow, Danny finds Tom interacting more with the patients than he's used to seeing, and it brings a smile to his face when he sees Tom brighten up while talking to them like they're the most important people in the world. Tom's energy is nearly tangible, lighting up the entire room in a way that the fluorescent lights and the rays of sunshine shining through the windows seem incapable of doing, and Danny just stares in wonder from across the room as Mr. Jackson goes on and on about his new drawing.

Tom flicks his eyes from Mrs. Finch to look back at Danny, and the widening of his smile looks like the opening of a flower, ready to soak in the sun for the very first time, but in his case to soak in Danny's gaze. They look on, neither saying anything, feeling remotely bad for ignoring their charges but too focused on each other to really care at the moment, and it suddenly becomes a war over who can smile the widest. Danny wins, and when Mrs. Finch tugs at Tom's sleeve, Tom nods in Danny's direction one last time before turning back to her, smile still as luminescent and warm. Danny lingers his gaze for a moment longer before turning back with a chuckle and complimenting Mr. Jackson for another job well done, who looks at him and gives him a toothless smile.

Looking at him, Danny reckons that all it needs to make him smile is to compliment him, say nice things to him, and he receives an unfaltering smile of gratitude as his reward. Then he thinks about Tom in that same way, and he realizes something that makes his smile stretch wider than his face can allow, his heart to race, his face to redden.

Maybe all Tom needed was someone to love him, too.

::

A concert ticket is waved in front of Tom's face, who is busy peeling oranges, and Tom knits his brows together to decipher the words splashed on the piece of paper.

Danny's manager had signed him up for a benefit concert in town to raise money for cancer patients, and Danny couldn't have accepted faster. It's been a while since he's performed in front of an audience, his last show being two months ago, and he's more than eager to present the newest song he's added to his vast collection.

Danny stops the motion, gently grabs Tom's dry hand, and places it firmly in his palm. He smiles hopefully as Tom brings it up level with his eyes to read it.

"I'd love it if you can come," Danny says, watching as Tom's eyes travel left and right. Tom finishes reading the print with a smile, and he turns to Danny with a nod of his head.

"'Course I'll come," Tom assures Danny, wiping the wetness from his other hand on his trousers before folding the ticket carefully and slipping it in his pocket. Danny's heart swells and takes the seat opposite him, blue eyes never leaving those brown ones, and Tom resumes peeling the orange he's neglected.

::

A handful people have already started to spill inside the auditorium a few ways from the psychological center and Danny peers from behind the curtains to see if Tom has arrived yet. A few minutes pass and he frowns, unsuccessful at spotting him, and he unfurls his fingers from the red fabric, body already turned to the lone stool standing in the middle of the stage. He sits himself down and sighs heavily. He knows he's being irrational to think Tom won't come, but he can't help but feel that way. The uncertainty digs a hole deep in his chest, something that nothing else but Tom can fill, and he can't perform his best knowing the hole's left unplugged.

He fights the urge to stand back up and look through the curtains one more time to search for Tom and instead busies himself with setting the microphone stand to his liking. All the while, he tries to distract himself by whistling a tune, and it works brilliantly. The next time he thinks of Tom is when the announcer is thanking the crowd for showing up and buying the tickets, and he grows agitated in his seat. He shifts uncomfortably, as if a pebble is wedged in his back pocket, and he taps the tip of the microphone softly with a forefinger to calm his nerves.

Then the light is dimmed and the curtain is lifted, and before he can get accustomed to the sudden change in the atmosphere, he's already staring at the audience. He's sitting in the middle of the spotlight, and he scopes out the entire auditorium before smiling and picking up the microphone from the stand.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," he begins, eyes poring over each individual face before continuing. "It's really great you all could be here. Judging by how much people are standing in the back, I reckon we've made loads of money for the cancer patients back in St. Jude's, and I want you guys to give yourselves a big round of applause for giving them another chance to keep on living."

They clap and whoop and Danny grins widely, content with himself for doing something to the benefit of those who really need it. But he smiles even wider when his eyes fall on the reassuring blond head sitting in the front row, brown eyes swimming with happiness mirrored by his dimpled smile, pale hands clapping with the rest of the people around him. Though Tom's clapping is lost in the crowd, Danny hears it loud and clear, and he hears it like it's the only sound in the world.

The clapping simmers down to a scattered applause, and when the noise completely dies down, Danny chuckles and shifts to a more comfortable position. Tom looks on.

"Now, this first song's dedicated to someone real close to me, someone who made me realize there's much more to life than money or fame or any materialistic thing. Made me realize that all you really need, no matter who you are or what you do, is love, and I hope you all enjoy it."

The audience cheers as he picks up his guitar leaning on one of the stool's legs, and he places it accordingly on his lap, his fingers finding their way to their places. He looks at them one last time before turning back to his guitar, and, taking a deep breath, he strums the first few notes and begins his song. The melody is soft and soothing, inspired by Tom's silk-like skin, and the lyrics describe Tom as how he is; a smile that lights up a room despite the seemingly endless expanse of darkness surrounding it, a breath of fresh air in one glance, infinite warmth emanating from his slender fingertips, and a voice that puts the singing of birds to shame.

He looks from the corners of his eyes to Tom, who's waving his head to the music like he did the first time Danny played for him, and they lock eyes for a moment. Just to get the message across that this song is meant for him and only him. With a smile, he turns back to the strings and keeps on playing, and it's then that he realizes that, in spite of all the heartbreaks and all the lies that entailed his fame, he feels for the first time what it's really like to be happy.

And in Tom's brown eyes, he knows he's finally found the true color of happiness.


End file.
